hand and said, "Homer, are you still running around with
those bums from the wrong side of town?"

* * * * *

These words from anyone but Uncle Peter would have been insulting. But
Uncle Peter is the most impersonal man I have known. He never bothers
insulting people for any personal satisfaction. When he asks a question,
he always has a reason for so doing.

By way of explaining Uncle Peter's question, let me say that I am a firm
believer in democracy and I demonstrate this belief in my daily life.
More than once I have had to apologize for the definitely unsocial
attitude of my family. They have a tendency to look down on those less
fortunate in environment and financial stability than we Nicholases.

I, however, do not approve of this snobbishness. I cannot forget that a
great-uncle, Phinias Nicholas, laid the foundations of our fortune by
stealing cattle in the days of the Early West and selling them at an
amazing profit.

I personally am a believer in the precept that all men are created
equal. I'll admit they don't remain equal very long, but that is beside
the point.

In defense of my convictions, I have always sought friends among the
underprivileged brotherhood sometimes scathingly referred to as bums,
tramps, screwballs, and I've found them, on the whole, to be pretty
swell people.

But to get back--I answered Uncle Peter rather stiffly. "My friends are
my own affair and are not to be discussed."

"No offense. My question had to do with an idea I got rather suddenly.
Will any of these--ah, friends, be present at the reception?"

"It is entirely possible."

"Then I could easily infiltrate--"

"You could what?"

"Never mind, my boy. It is not important. I'll be indeed honored to
attend your wedding."

At that moment there was a muffled commotion from beyond a closed door
to our left; the sound of heels kicking on the panel and an irate female
voice:

"They gone yet? There's cobwebs in this damn closet--and it's dark!"

Uncle Peter had the grace to blush. In fact he could do little else as
the closet door opened and a young lady stepped forth.

In the vulgar parlance of the day, this girl could be described only as
a dream-boat. This beyond all doubt, because the trim hull, from stem to
stern, was bared to the gaze of all who cared to observe and admire. She
was a blonde dream-boat--and most of her present apparel had come from
lying under a sun lamp.

Uncle